


Shape Of You

by daddyberonica



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, OUT AND PROUD BETTY, Veronica being the sexy ass mofo that she is, and veronica being turned on by that is a given, because confident and assertive betty is everything, idk anymore tags, the AU we all needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 00:52:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10798323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daddyberonica/pseuds/daddyberonica
Summary: She wants to trace that body with her fingertips, wants to trace the hollow of her throat, the sharpness of her collarbones, the rise of her chest, the dip of her sides, the jut of her hips, the curve of her ass, the thickness of her thighs and the length of those lean legs. Betty wants to trace and measure and calculate every inch of her, wants to paint her in nothing but tan skin and white sheets.





	Shape Of You

**Author's Note:**

> I have been screaming for a beronica x shape of you AU for months on end and since no one else was going to write it I did it myself okay

 

  
Betty leans her elbows against the table before her, listening with half attention to whatever conversation is rolling around table among her cluster of friends.

  
Divided attention is only partially the reason she can't focus on whatever her friends are talking about. Its hard to concentrate on small talk when you're buzzed and the lights are low and the music is loud. The bar around her is full, its a Saturday night after all.

Her fingers dance along the rim of her empty shot glass, her sixth of the night, while her eyes keep flickering over to the sweaty, swaying bodies on the dance floor. Well, _one_ body in particular.

The _main_ reason for her distraction.

Betty has spent the entire night watching this short skirt and tight blouse clad body dancing in the crowd. She doesn't know why her eyes seem to be going back to dancing girl again and again, or why they keep going back only to _her_. Its been that way since Betty first caught a look at her at the beginning of the night - but she made sure not to stare and - well that doesn't really matter now. Because Betty's gaze catches on the sliver of tan skin that flashes when the girl puts her arms up, tangling them in her own dark, dark hair, causing her blouse to ride up.

Betty really doesn't understand why her throat dries up in an instant. Or she _does_ understand but doesn't want to think about it. She tears her gaze away and looks down at her shot, curling her fingers around the glass and she empties it. The liquid burns but doesn't do shit for the itching dryness in her throat.

"Remind me again, what are we doing here?"

Archie's voice makes it to her ears and she's surprised that she can hear him. Betty looks up at the circle of her friends gathered around the table.

"We need more shots," Kevin says instead, signalling at a waiter and then looks back at Archie, "We, dear Archie, are here to have a good time and throw off the stress of this long, long week.. Also 'cause you know what they say, bars are better than clubs if you're looking for something special. ."

Archie snorts, raising a brow, "You mean looking for someone you can get laid by?"

"You're an asshole but you're a right asshole."

Archie shrugs as the waiter comes back with more shots on a tray and cleans away the empty glasses before replacing them with new ones.

"I, for one, haven't seen one decent guy so far." Melody drains another shot and suppresses a shudder, "Who else is going home alone again?"

Kevin's eyes twinkle. "I may or may not have my eyes on a really hot DJ so I can't say I relate."

"Well I'm not looking." Cheryl tucks herself further into Josie's side, hands on thighs and shoulders pressed together, "And neither is Jose."

Betty stops herself from rolling her eyes. Those two definitely aren't going home alone.

Archie's eyes sweep around the bar while Reggie grumbles darkly into his own glass and Betty looks away from them, looking back at the girl once again. She's still there, still alone. Betty doesn't understand how the fuck is she dancing alone, has been dancing alone the whole night - doesn't understand why nobody has gone up to her this whole time.

Is everyone in here blind or something?

There's a literal fucking goddess dancing right there in the middle of the bar and no one has approached her yet.

For the hundredth time, Betty lets her eyes take the girl in, sliding slowly from her midnight dark hair and down the length of her killer figure. She's small, even in heels, wearing a skirt that's too short for anyone's good, reaching just the top of her tan thighs, leaving them exposed and bare, dangerously yet deliciously so. Her blouse is definitely tighter than it should be allowed, hugging her body perfectly, throwing every single curve of her into light - her chest, her sides, exposing her stomach every time she moves her arms and the spaghetti straps across the front of the blouse leave very little to imagination.

Well, _fuck_.

Betty watches the sway of her hips to the beat of the music and she can feel something pulsing within her, perfectly syncopated to how the brunette's hips rock with the music.

Something about the way the girl moves is so fucking hypnotizing that Betty finds herself staring, transfixed.

Now, Betty is no amateur. She's seen a fuck ton of drop-dead gorgeous women in her life, has dated her fair share of the hottest girls in college - has even had a reputation of hooking up with nearly all of them. So what she's seeing right now is nothing she's never seen before - but there's something different about the girl dancing before her, something seductive and much more alluring, something that seems to be pulling Betty in - like moth to a flame - Betty finds herself drawn and she can't explain it.

Kevin taps at her wrist for maybe the tenth time, finally succeeding in drawing her eyes to his curious face, "How about you, Betts? Find any cute girls?"

  
Betty doesn't really mean to, but as if on fucking autopilot, her eyes drift back to the raven haired beauty, still dancing as if no one's watching, but Betty _is_ watching, has been watching the whole time.

"Oh my god." Kevin hisses in her ear, probably having followed her gaze "Screw _hot_ , that one is _scorching_."

Betty only half listens because well - the girls has swung around and - and _fuck_ if she doesn't know how to move that perfect ass in just the right ways. Betty suddenly can't look away, eyes glued to those hips rocking to the beat in a way that makes Betty's palms clammy and her leg bounce restlessly and she wonders - wonders how that tiny waist would feel in her hands - how those hips would feel rocking and grinding against her and -

_Fuck_.

"Go!" Kevin whispers again, nudging Betty's ribs, "Before someone else makes a move!"

Betty doesn't budge. She doesn't really trust her legs to perform proper function right now - and besides -

She forces herself to tear her eyes away from where that too-short skirt is failing to properly cover her ass and fixes her eyes on Kevin.

"How the hell am I just supposed to assume that she's not straight?" She whispers so that the conversation remains just between the two of them.

"Honey, this is New York," He gestures dramatically around him, "And besides, no girl in living history has ever denied you, even if they are as straight as a telephone pole."  
She rolls her eyes, picking up another shot and draining it, "I'm not desperate enough to hookup with a straight girl, no matter how hot she is."

Okay, that was a fat ass lie because Betty knows - in her heart she knows - that straight or not, she wants that girl in her bed.. or against a wall or on a table or -

"Its not like you have never slept with straight girls before." Kevin protests, pulling her out of a very explicit place in her own mind.

Of course he'd throw that in her face right now,

"I'm fine, Kev." She waves a hand at him, "Not really in the mood for any of this tonight. Honest."

"And you are also a fucking terrible liar." He counters back but -being his amazing self - lets the matter go and slides another shot over to Betty, "Bottom's up, then."

  
Betty answers him with a gratified smile and throws the shot back.

  
The talk around the table has been abandoned since Cheryl and Josie are completely engrossed in a whispered conversation and Reggie has gone missing - Betty assumes that's another one of them who's not going home alone. Archie is leaning back in his seat across from her, hands playing with an empty glass and eyes lost on the dance floor.

Betty doesn't want to know if he's watching the same person she's been staring at the whole time. She just doesn't want to know and she's pretty sure that she already knows the answer. But still, her eyes fly back to _her_  - seemingly unable to stay away - Betty know's she fucked because she can't seem to keep her gaze away from the girl for more than two minutes.

Why _can't_ she just stop?

Spreading an arm over the back of the booth, Betty leans back and tilts her head, giving the still dancing girl a once over - starting from her hair and right down to her heels, involuntarily catching on any inch of exposed skin there is to see - and then back up to her face again.

  
Yep, she's fucked. _Royally_ fucked.

Betty doesn't know much of craftsmanship but as far as it should go, that girl is a first-rate masterpiece crafted by god's very own hands. And looking at her twisting and turning her body to the way music flows, Betty's inner artist stretches awake through the buzz of the alcohol.

She wants to trace that body with her fingertips, wants to trace the hollow of her throat, the sharpness of her collarbones, the rise of her chest, the dip of her sides, the jut of her hips, the curve of her ass, the thickness of her thighs and the length of those lean legs. Betty wants to trace and measure and calculate every inch of her, wants to paint her in nothing but tan skin and white sheets.

Its not like Betty is feeling this way because she's a wild teenager with raging hormones - she's a grown and mature twenty-three years old , thanks very much. Its also not because Betty hasn't had a hookup in a long time. Nope, in fact, its pretty far from that. The last time she slept with someone was - what, two days ago? Three, at max. Betty faintly remembers the wild night with a tall and hot brunette (Betty apparently has a type) that she met in her art exhibition a few days go. So yeah, it can't be because she's feeling deprived and whatnot. Its just - its just something about the girl with hair as dark as the nightsky and a body that looks so deliciously soft - even from this far - and curves and thighs that are legitimate to-die-for. Its just something about her that is so incredibly alluring and attracting for Betty - she can't say what it is - but she just knows.

Irritated and bothered for ungodly reasons, she huffs out a breath and watches and watches and-

The girl looks over her shoulder and catches Betty staring. Betty knows she should be embarrassed and look away immediately but she doesn't. Instead she holds the girl's dark gaze before deliberately letting her eyes move down the length of her body and back up to her face again - because she's a bold as they come and because she's open and confident in what she wants and isn't afraid to show that she wants it. Never has been, never will be.

In response to Betty's bold advance, an eyebrow crawls up the girl's forehead and her red painted mouth tugs up in a slow, lazy, knowing smirk that leaves something squirming in Betty's stomach. A tongue darts past those dark lips, running along the bottom one all the while keeping the smirk intact and holding Betty's gaze, meeting her with the same boldness. The squirming in Betty's stomach turns into a puddle of heat.

With a flip of raven hair, the girl turns back around and very slowly, very deliberately runs her hands up her own stomach, over her chest and through her hair, bunching them up and she moves against nothing but thin air, intentions loud and clear.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Betty crosses her legs tightly under the table, her throat dry and itching, hoping to heavens that nobody else is watching this, or at least watching _Betty_ right now.

It takes her a whole minute or maybe even longer to get control over herself, but this time she doesn't have to look back at the bombshell on the dance floor, because the next thing she knows, the girl is strolling up to their table, leaning a hip against it and bends towards Betty - red lips lifted in a smile - and Betty is suddenly engulfed in the smell of something flowery and expensive.

"Hi, could you tell what time is it?"

The first thing that Betty's mind processes is how fucking sexy the brunette's voice is. Its just this right level of low - seductive and sultry - sensuous in a way that makes Betty's heart beat a little faster and she thinks that if she could, she'd spend the whole night just listening to this girl talk but - 

From the corner of her vision, Betty can see every pair of eyes around the table snapping up to look at the new comer but to her credit, the girl keeps her eyes fixed on Betty.

"Um, sure." Betty blinks a little - trying to ignore the eyes of her friends flickering between her and the girl - and shifts a little to pull her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans.

The way the brunette's eyes follow the movement of Betty's long, lean body doesn't go amiss by Betty - not by a long shot - and she tries to suppress her smirk. She's used to this - people looking at her like this. Coming back to the task at hand, Betty quickly checks the time and looks up at the brunette again, "Its a quarter to one."

"Thanks." Her eyes dive down Betty's torso for another eyeful and the smile she flashes at Betty is sharp, all pearly teeth and playful. Betty finds it really hard not to stare at her mouth.

"No problem."

Betty expects her to walk away but she lifts a hand to tuck a piece of raven hair behind her ear, eyes shifting between Betty and the bar, still bent closer to Betty as to make it clear that she's only interested in talking to her. Her eyes fall down to the empty shot in Betty's hand and she raises a perfect eyebrow.

"Vodka?"

Betty can't understand why she would be interested in whatever Betty's drinking but then realizes that she's clearly trying to make a conversation. _Oh_.

"Tequila, actually," Betty responds, her confidence seemingly coming back to her with every moment.

Betty's confidence never really leaves her. She is a bold, assertive person - always has been - but again, there's just this thing about the girl leaning over her - about her glinting, dark eyes and her devil red mouth's wicked upturn that unnerves Betty in the best possible way. But then again, the way she looks at Betty, eyes roaming over her, gives her confidence more space to take over.

"Is it any good?" The girl asks, eyes twinkling in mischief, "I always go for either vodka or gin.. never tried tequila."

Betty lets her mouth curl into a lazy smile, catching up on what she's implying and the girl grins back, knowing that Betty has picked up.

"Its never to late to try," Betty glances at the empty shots littering her table and then back up at the girl, clearly teasing now, "I'd offer you one but it looks like we don't have any more left."

Her friends are still her - Betty thinks to herself - they're still watching the two of them but then the brunette laughs at Betty's comment - a short, clear sound and Betty forgets all about whatever she was just thinking - her heart stuttering at the sound of her laugh.

Oh fuck.

"Well, why don't you buy me a round?" Her voice is low, eyes playful and challenging.

Betty pushes her tongue against her cheek, lips turning up in a smile.

Two can play this game and play it well.

"Of course," Betty brushes her hands on her jeans and stands up, "It'd be a pleasure."

She's aware of her friends watching the two of them again but she can't bring herself to care about it because she's too busy marveling in the height difference between herself and the brunette. She's at least three or four inches shorter than Betty - and that's when she's wearing heels and Betty is wearing flat boots. Naturally enough, Betty finds this height difference a major turn on.

The brunette looks up at her through long, dark lashes, her face morphing into a smirk as she gives Betty a once over, slow and thorough, sliding down Betty's torso and further down her long jeans clad legs, catching on her lean, nimble fingers and then on the deep V-neck of Betty's t-shirt.

Betty's throat gets dryer at the unmistakable look of approval and desire that ignites in the brown eyes that have traveled back up to hers. She has seen that look on people for herself too many times to mistake it. Betty knows she's hot - alarmingly hot, to be more accurate - knows it because she sees it in the mirror everyday, because she sees it in people's eyes when they look at her. But there's something so different, so bold and full of undisguised desire about the look in the brunette eyes - intense and burning in a way that leaves Betty's skin feeling as if its set of fire.

"Be back, guys." She finds herself uttering to her group of friends and doesn't pay attention to what they respond with because she's already walking off towards the bar with the brunette at her side.

Once they reach the bar, Betty helps her companion settle on a bar-stool while she takes the one beside her and turns so she's facing the raven haired deity.

"I'm assuming you haven't really never tried tequila, huh?" She tilts her head, leaning an elbow against the bar top.

That sinisterly red mouth quirks up again into, what Betty assumes is, her signature smile, "Had to come with some excuse."

Betty flicks an eyebrow up, "Excuse for what?"

Her eyes inch down Betty's face, stilling on her mouth for a second too, "To get you on my own."

Rolling her bottom lip in, Betty bites back her smirk, "Fair enough."

"I'm glad you approve." She flips her hair over her shoulder again, eyes crinkled in a secret smile, "Considering how lame of an excuse it was."

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" Betty gestures at herself, barely able to suppress her own smile.

The playful twinkle in the brunette's eyes momentarily flashes as something more wicked as she throws Betty an amused look, "Sure did."

Shaking her head, Betty finally allows herself a small grin, "So.. what do you want me to get you, then?"

"A margarita would be great." Her eyes flit across Betty's face, interested and luminous and imploring.

And then the light hits her just right and for a moment Betty forgets that she has to place an order, or carry a conversation, or just not make herself look like an idiot in general. In the better lightening over the bar, every inch of the brunette's face is thrown into much better, much clearer focus and Betty can't seem to fathom how someone could be so fucking beautiful.

A bright forehead, dark and perfectly made eyebrows, almond shaped eyes the color of rich coffee, adorned with dark eyeliner, high cheekbones that give her face the shape of a fucking heart, small nose and full, luscious, cupid bow lips that curl into a knowing smile, noticing Betty's undisguised stare and fuck if Betty doesn't want to lean in and kiss them - kiss _her_ senseless. 

"Like what you see?"

Betty follows the movements of her mouth before letting her gaze travel up to her eyes, "Very."

There's that laugh again, light and soft - and Betty realizes she wants to hear it again and again and again - breathed into her ears, vibrating under her fingers, ghosting over her skin.

"I'm flattered," The girl bites her lip, holding Betty's gaze and offers a hand, "Veronica Lodge."

So the femme fatale has a name - one that suits her generously at that.

Betty reaches out and takes her hand and doesn't miss how her skin tingles where it meets Veronica's or how those same tingles run all the way up her arm and settle in her chest.

"Betty Cooper."

Veronica answers with a lazy smile, "Betty."

And Betty tries not to dwell too hard on how perfect her name sounds falling through those lips - or how it will sound falling through those lips in gasps and whispers and screams and -

_Fuck_.

Veronica lets her go of her hand but not before letting her fingers linger on Betty's knuckles, her short,black painted nails a stark contrast against Betty's pale skin. 

"I hope you don't mind that I ordered a margarita for you as well while you were... zoned out."

The smirk that punctures the end of her sentence lets Betty know that she really isn't being that subtle - not that she's even trying to be - but still.

"Yeah, that's no problem." Betty shakes her head and watches Veronica's eyes catch on the bounce of her ponytail.

Well, at least Betty isn't alone in this boat.

"So, Betty.." Veronica clears her throat slightly, "Do you come here often?"

"Not much." Betty shrugs, hand flying up to rub the back of her own neck, "I'm not much of party person but when I do go out, bars aren't really my scene."

"Huh," Veronica twists her mouth, eyes never leaving Betty's face, "What is your scene then?"

Betty presses her teeth down on the corner of her mouth, eyes involuntarily flickering down to give Veronica a quick, fleeting look over and somehow hitch on the exposed, slightly glistening dip of Veronica's chest through the spaghetti straps. She forces herself to look away before she does something irrational and looks up to meet Veronica's smoldering eyes,

"Clubs, mostly.. and good alcohol.. and maybe a hot girl."

Veronica's mouth tugs up in a huge, cat-like grin, "Its seems like tonight is your scene after all.. save for the club part."

That draws a laugh out of Betty and she shrugs a little. "Doesn't really matter I guess. Two out of three isn't bad."

Veronica goes to say something but is cut off when the bartender places their drinks in front of them. Betty and Veronica clink their glasses together before taking a sip each.

The music is still loud, people are still dancing but Betty isn't watching the dance floor anymore. Everything that had all her attention the whole night is next to her right now and Betty has all of  _her_ attention.

"So what do you do?" Veronica says after a while, twirling the plastic umbrella in her glass, "Student?"

"Graduated college two years ago," Betty's finger catch on the zipper of her leather jacket, "Now I'm a professional artist."

Veronica's eyes snap to Betty's, her face breaking into a smirk, "Well, isn't _that_ a turn on."

Betty feels her cheeks warming just a little - a that's a _first_ because Betty Cooper has been known to _make_ people blush rather than ever blush herself.

She takes another sip of her drink just to do something with herself, "What about you?"

"I'm a dancer," Veronica responds, fingers tracing the rim of her glass,

Betty lets her eyes trail down the length of Veronica's toned, smooth legs, not wanting to miss the chance for a payback, "With legs like those, its not a surprise."

She catches sight of a hint of pink in Veronica's cheeks before the brunette throws her head back and laughs, exposing her neck and the way the muscle in her throat moves as she laughs. Betty gets this mad urge to lick a stripe up her throat along that pulsing muscle.

Fucking hell.

She allows herself a smile for Veronica's sake and picks up her glass and drains it. When she looks back at the brunette, she's already watching her, eyes sparkling like a pair of damned fireflies and lips suppressing a smirk.

"So, how does it work?" Betty knows its a failed attempt but she goes for it any way, "The dancing thing?"

Veronica hums, taking a sip from her glass, "I'm a part of this group of dancers. We dance for singers at their shows and tours and stuff."

"Really?" Betty leans into the bar top, "Are you guys big?"

Veronica grins, "We danced for Beyonce on her last tour."

Betty lets the her surprise show, "Woah."

"Yeah." Veronica laughs under her breath, "We're kind of also performing with a rapper tomorrow night at the MSG."

"That's actually pretty cool." Betty smiles a little."There's literally no point asking if you're good because that would be plenty stupid."

That makes Veronica laugh loudly before she fixes Betty with a knowing look, "I suppose, considering the fact that you've spent the whole night watching me dance."

Betty tries really hard not to choke, "You, uh - how do you know?"

"Oh please, Betty." Veronica waves a hand, once again smirking in that way that makes Betty's stomach queasy, "I saw you watching soon as I went on that dance floor. And every time I looked, you were still watching."

Betty flushes, "Okay this is embarrassing."

"Its not!" Veronica grins, "You actually had me thinking you were going to come up to me at some point, given the way you were looking at me."

Betty's mouth feels dry, "What way?"

Veronica grin drops to a wicked curl of her lips, eyes smoldering and bright, "Like you wanted to push me up against a wall."

Oh fuck.

For a good minute, Betty's brain short-circuits and she just stares at Veronica who's now smiling in such a smug way that Betty doesn't know what to do. She has never met someone so bold, who meets her with the same confidence and seems to know just which buttons to push on.

Betty has always been the charmer in every interaction, the one with the smooth talk and smooth moves but this - with Veronica - Betty feels like she's never been more out of her element.

And she loves it.

Veronica gives her eyebrows a flick and Betty's trance breaks. She blinks and shakes her head, cracking a smile and meets the brunette's eyes, "You've got no idea how apt of a description that is."

She sees rather hears the small catch in Veronica's breath and that brings a self satisfied smirk to Betty's lips. Maybe she's not _that_ out of her element after all.

And then Veronica is laughing again and Betty watches her, completely entranced.

They spend the next hour or two making small conversation, talking about their respective jobs and normal, everyday life and whatnot. Or rather Veronica does most of the talking while Betty just sits back and watches the movement of Veronica's mouth around each word she says, wondering how it would feel moving against hers. Veronica keeps playing with her hair - her neck length ebony hair that looks as soft as feathers and makes Betty want to run her hands through them, pulling at the glossy strands, pulling and pulling until she gasps.

Veronica notices Betty staring and she allows herself a knowing smirk and offers Betty a hand.

"Dance with me."

And Betty takes her hand without hesitation, despite the fact that she has no fucking idea how to dance the way everyone around her is dancing. But Veronica is already on her feet, pulling Betty after her, pulling her to the corner of the dance floor where there's less people and more dark.

Okay then.

"Aren't you tired?" Betty wonders aloud, watching the sway of Veronica's ass as she walks in front of her, "I mean.. with all the dancing you've been doing?"

"I've been wanting to dance with you all night.." Veronica looks over her shoulder, "We could have had it much sooner if only you had approached me."

True.

The music is loud again and Veronica starts to dance once more, slowly at first and eventually moving to the beat in a way the wipes all thoughts from Betty's mind, leaving her watching and staring and hypnotized.

Betty doesn't know what song it is, doesn't really give a fuck about it either - her world seems to have reduced to the rock of Veronica's hips to the thrumming beat and then she loses focus on even _that_ because Veronica is pushing herself against Betty - her fingers pulling Betty in by the lapels of her jacket and for that one moment, Betty forgets her own name.

Veronica looks up at her, long lashes trembling but her eyes hold a mischievous glint, "You're not dancing, Betty."

"I-" Betty tries to gather her thoughts - tries not to think too much of Veronica's hips pressing against her or of Veronica's fingers running along her collarbones, "I really don't know how to - you know - dance and stuff. I haven't ever done this, like at all."

"You talk too much," Veronica's voice has gone really low and really fucking sexy - and she takes Betty's hands and puts them on her waist, "Its a push and pull, Betty. Easy as that."

Betty keeps her hands on Veronica's waist and lets Veronica dance against her, still unsure what to do. Veronica notices and playfully rolls her eyes before leaning up and ghosting her lips over Betty's ear, "Stop stressing, just follow my lead."

Betty shivers at the feeling of Veronica's hot breath and her soft lips so fucking close but she makes up her mind - deciding to take Veronica's lead the way she wants her to. And when the music takes on a loop of beats and Veronica pushes against her, Betty pushes back - hands curling on that small as fuck waist - pushes until their bodies are lined up, rocking and moving together and -

Veronica grins - apparently pleased with the response - and then she's turning against Betty and pushing her back flushed to Betty's front.

Betty feels her body respond to Veronica - to Veronica's touch - to the feeling of Veronica held next to her - and Betty has no idea how that happens. Every nerve in her being seems to be tingling, her scalp prickles and she feels as if every molecule in her body is charged and buzzing.

And she knows this as well as she knows anything else - that its not because of the alcohol.

Her hand slips forward from Veronica's waist, pressing flat against her stomach, fingers splayed - while the other remains on her hip, pushing against her and pulling her back in a rhythm that makes Betty's own breathing fast.

Veronica dances against Betty like she was born to do it, her body moving in time with Betty's as if they'd rehearsed this a hundred times. Betty can't focus on anything but this - on Veronica and how she just fits against Betty , front to back, fitting together like two puzzle pieces - fitting like nobody has ever fit against her before - and Betty can't help but think how fucking good it feels.

The beat changes again and then Veronica is moving her arms up again, circling them around Betty's neck and Betty's fingers are met with the skin of her stomach that peaks through when her blouse rides up. All of Betty's senses go on high alert as she lets her fingers dance on Veronica's bare skin, taken aback by the warmth and softness of it - and Betty wants nothing more than to slip her hands under that blouse and run them over her stomach, run them all over Veronica.

She can feel Veronica's fingers tightening around the nape of her neck, pushing her own back against Betty's chest, hips grinding back and - _fuck_. Betty lets her hands trail up from Veronica's waist, lets her fingers skim along Veronica's sides - slow and deliberate - up and up until they're running along Veronica's arms that are wound around Betty's neck and she takes a hold of them keeping them in place before she rolls her hips into Veronica's ass. Betty can feel the goosebumps that break over the skin of Veronica's arms at that, feels the shudder in Veronica's breath and the gasp she tries to muffle.

Betty smirks but before she can do it again, Veronica is turning back around, face inches from Betty's, mouth parted open just a little, eyes blown with desire - darting from Betty's lips to her eyes and back again. Betty doesn't realize that both of them have leaned in until they're breathing the air from each other's lungs, nose bumping together, lips ghosting over each other and Betty's mind is foggy with the intoxicating smell of Veronica's perfume - and god, she's never found anything more inviting and appealing than Veronica's lips right now - full and parted and just so, so fucking kissable.

And she doesn't know who moves in first but she finds herself kissing Veronica, soft but insistent. Betty has never been the one to believe in sparks and butterflies and flutters and tingles and fireworks while kissing someone - has never experienced them in her life - but as her lips mold into Veronica's again and again and again, she swears to god she fucking feels all of that - all of that and more.

Betty doesn't know what she's doing - she doesn't think she even has control of her own body at this point - all she knows is that she wants more of this, more of Veronica. More, more, more. So she parts her mouth, runs her tongue along Veronica's bottom lip and Veronica opens up for her, eager and willing, letting Betty dip her tongue into her mouth and taste the lemon margarita she's just had and something sweet and - _oh_.

Betty forgets where they are, forgets that its a public place, forgets that people may be watching, forgets that her friends are somewhere really close, forgets anything and everything that isn't kissing Veronica right now and the push and pull of her lips against Betty's.

Veronica's mouth is hot and sweet around Betty's tongue, the movements firm yet soft, yielding and resisting at the same time, giving as much as taking, pushing and pulling in equal measures. Kissing Veronica Lodge isn't anything like Betty has ever experienced. No kiss she's had in her entire life is quite like this one with Veronica and Betty thinks faintly that no kiss could ever compete with this, _would_ ever compete with this.

Veronica's arms tighten around Betty's neck and she presses herself up against her - and Betty simply answers by rocking her hips into Veronica's. The moan Veronica lets out at this sends a zing of heat shooting through Betty's body and she tries really hard not to gasp.

Some part of Betty's brain is yelling at her to stop, screaming at her that she's in a public place right now - surrounded by god knows how many people - and that she shouldn't be doing this, not here, not like this. But then Veronica's tongue is hot and sweet against hers, her lips supple and pliable between Betty's and then she's nipping on Betty's bottom lip and that voice in Betty's head dies as quickly as it came alive.

Betty runs her hands up and down Veronica's sides, catching in her blouse sometimes and she wishes she could just rip that stupid thing off Veronica and just - Betty slides her hands further up until they're finally - finally - carding through those soft as fuck hair, her fingers twisting in the locks and pulling - pulling until Veronica moans into her mouth. And the sound sends Betty spiraling and dizzy.

As if payback, Veronica lets her hands drop to the belt loops on Betty's jeans, hooking her fingers through them and pulls Betty impossibly closer while thrusting against her at the same time and Betty's brain seems to melt. Veronica's mouth moves a lot more forcefully against hers, more demanding - biting Betty's lip just enough to actually sting and Betty can't stop herself from gasping. But Veronica swallows that gasp and pushes again and again until Betty pushes right back and the kiss gets deeper, rougher and more desperate - bruising in a way that leaves Betty reeling.

She pulls away and drags her mouth across Veronica's jawline in open mouthed kisses, dipping just a little low to kiss along the line of her throat before biting on her pulse point - softly but hard enough to make Veronica's hips roll into her with a delicious moan. Betty smirks against her skin and licks a stripe up Veronica's windpipe - just like she so badly wanted to- and leaves a gentle bite on Veronica's jaw because Betty is nothing if not a fucking tease.

Veronica breaks away, her face flushed and eyes wild with a look that has heat pooling in Betty's stomach.

"Outside.." Veronica's gasps through uneven breathing and clutches at Betty's hands, "Right now."

And then she moving towards the exit, dragging Betty behind her and Betty follows without reluctance. She knows she should stop to let her friends know - but she honestly doesn't care much about anything right now - other than how bad she wants to get Veronica somewhere alone and make her moan in a way both of them will never forget.

Betty doesn't know how they manage to hail a cab but before she knows it, they're getting in one and she's telling the driver her own address. And then she's kissing Veronica in the backseat - pushing her up against the window - lips molding together, hands fumbling and limbs tangled and-

"Wait."

Betty pulls back, breathless and dizzy - and takes utmost pleasure in the way Veronica's desperately chases her lips and kisses her again and again, quick and hard and desperate - and Betty finds it really fucking impossible to stop long enough to complete her sentence. She kisses Veronica once, twice, thrice before finally detaching herself from the brunette's kiss swollen lips.

"How drunk are you?" Betty pants against Veronica's mouth - her brain is a jumbled mess of hormones and lust but she's sober and she needs to know - needs to be sure - needs this, whatever this is, to not be a drunk mistake. And she doesn't know why she even needs that in the first place. Its never happened before - she has never cared about having a drunk hookup before, so what is this with Veronica and her dark, doe eyes and promising, supple lips that make her want for this to not happen just because they're drunk?

"Not even nearly enough to blame this on the alcohol." Veronica responds, breathing as fast and hard as Betty.

Betty eyes her carefully, searching the depths of those brown eyes for any signs of intoxication but she finds none. Still, she asks, "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," Veronica breathes, reaching for Betty again, "Now kiss me. Please."

The almost whine in her tone makes Betty smile and then she's pulling Veronica on her lap and kissing her and kissing her and kissing her

She's dimly aware of the fact that two of them aren't still completely alone but again, she really can't bring herself to dwell on that - not when Veronica's straddling her lap, fingers pulling Betty's hair free from her ponytail and pushing through the tendrils, her weight warm and comfortable on Betty and then not so comfortable when she rolls her hips bluntly into Betty's. And then Betty is trailing her hands up Veronica's thighs - up and up - until they slip under that ridiculously short skirt - and further up, until her fingertips graze the edges of lace there, leaving Veronica hanging on the edge, leaving her to moan as incoherently as its possible.

Betty doesn't know when they arrive at her house or when and how she pays the driver. Betty also doesn't understand how she and Veronica managed to not rip the clothes off each other this whole time but that changes as soon they're inside the house. Veronica's mouth is on Betty's again and her jacket is pushed off her shoulders even before the door is shut and locked behind them.

They kiss their way towards Betty's bedroom, stumbling and tripping as a piece of both girls' outfits is discarded at every step - until Betty is pushing Veronica on her bed, all naked tan skin and white sheets.

Betty can't really see Veronica is the dark of her bedroom - the only source of light being the dim light from the lamp post out on the street pouring through the blinds on the window. Betty can't see Veronica - which is a shame like no other - but she can _feel_ her - all of her - under her hands, under her own body. So when eyes can't fully drink in the masterpiece of a body beneath her, she lets her hands do most of the job.

The night goes by like this:

Betty's hands and mouth roaming every inch, every part of Veronica's body - fingers and lips tracing and outlining the shape of her - every curve of her soft, warm body, every dip, every rise, every contour; Betty mapping out every inch of Veronica's skin with kisses vigorous enough to leave bruises - teeth clenching down on anywhere they can - on her pulse points, on the swells of her shoulders, on the rise of her collar bones, on the curves of her breasts, on the juts of her hipbones, on the smooth insides of her thighs - marking her, marking her, marking her.

The night goes like this:

Veronica's hands fisting in the bedsheets, in Betty's hair, pulling hard enough to make her groan into Veronica, into her skin; Veronica arching off the bed, arching into her, body limp and pliable under Betty's lips and her tongue and her long, skilled fingers - and Betty relishing in the feeling of being able to paint her, every inch and every part, with fingers and lips and kisses and marks.

The night goes like this:

Veronica's unrestrained sounds ringing in the dark of the room, whimpers and moans and gasps breathed into Betty's ears; Veronica's nails scraping and scratching Betty's shoulders and down the length of her back, leaving burning lines that only make Betty move harder and faster; Veronica screaming and panting her name - again and again like a prayer every time she goes over the edge - and fuck if Betty can keep count of how many times that happens.

The night ends like this:

Veronica falling asleep in Betty's arms, exhausted and spent; Their legs tangled together - all skin on skin, with nothing between them - raven hair fanning out on pale skin where Veronica's head lies on Betty's chest and Betty drawing mindless patterns on the bare skin between Veronica's shoulder blades - thinking how she's never loved the shape of someone more than she loves this one fitting into hers at this moment. Betty is an artist - a sucker for aesthetics one at that too. And when she sees something artistically beautiful, something poetically stunning, she itches and longs to paint it. And Veronica Lodge - in all her glorious tan skin, goddess like features, that sharp, wicked smile and her perfect, gorgeous, incomparable body - is a fucking _aesthetic_ in herself.

And Betty, lost in the feeling of the brunette sleeping in her arms, wishes that she could paint Veronica on a canvas, with all the damned colors in the universe - paint her like one of Jack Dawson's French girls.

.

.

.

 

Betty wakes up the next morning, annoyed by the sunlight streaming right onto her face and rolls over to an empty bed - and the silence all around her lets her know that the house is empty too.

She groans a little, pushing her hands through her hair and buries her face back into her pillow. It hits her then - how the pillowcase and the bedsheets underneath her smell faintly but surely like a certain brunette that was in her bed not too long ago.

Memories from last night play through her mind and Betty grins, pressing her face further into the pillow, inhaling the smell of flowery perfume and Veronica.

Betty isn't surprised that the brunette left before she could wake up - it happens all the fucking time after one night stands - and she tries hard not to feel disappointed that this is no exception. And _that_ shocks her because Betty has never felt disappointed waking up alone after a hookup ever before. She tries not to, but she wishes Veronica had stayed - wishes that it could have been more than just a one night stand - wishes that last night could have been an exception from all the hookups she's ever had. And that makes her want to hit herself.

Rubbing her face, Betty gets out of bed and looks around for some clothes. She picks up her shirt and panties from the floor where Veronica had discarded them the night before and again tries - but fails - not to blush. She slips the clothes on and pads out of her bedroom - in desperate need of some coffee.

Betty makes her way into the kitchen and switches on the coffee machine - before turning to fill the carafe with water and she spots a yellow post-it note slapped to the marble counter top. She frowns, walking over to it and plucks it off the counter - reading the elegant scrawl across the note. Its a phone number and a simple line scribbled beneath it:

_"Paint me like one of your French girls sometime? - xoxo V."_

Betty bursts out laughing and she's picking up her phone and dialing the number before she is even done with filling water in the carafe, a light feeling in her chest that makes her feel like a fucking teenager.

The call is answered on the second ring, " _Hello_?"

Betty grabs a mug from the cabinet, "How did you know I wanted to paint you?"

Veronica laughs, carefree and bright, " _You may have let it slip at some point last night_."

Betty can feel her cheeks warming and she scratches the back of her neck, practically dying just thinking about what _else_ she may have let slip the night before, "Well, fuck."

Another short laugh cuts through the line, " _Hey listen, sorry about sneaking out like that. I didn't want to but I had to go because we've got an early rehearsal for tonight. I did try to wake you up but you're an awfully heavy sleeper_."

Betty presses the phone between her shoulder and ear, "Its okay, I get that.. but you know, I wasn't really expecting you to leave your number."

" _And I wasn't expecting you to actually ever call._ "

"I would've been stupid as fuck not to," Betty dumps a spoonful of sugar in her mug, "I mean, last night was ...."

She trails off, flashing back to wet kisses and breathy moans and slick fingers and trembling thighs and hands everywhere and-

" _Yeah_ ," Veronica says quietly, almost as if thinking the same things as Betty, " _Yeah it was_."

"Yeah." Betty says meekly.

" _I mean, its going to be a hell of a job covering up these marks for the show tonight."_ Veronica's voice has gone all slow and seductive, " _You're an insatiable monster in bed, Betty Cooper_."

Betty honest to god blushes to the fucking roots of her hair, warm all over her face.. But she can't have Veronica know how pathetic she feels right now so she goes for the more dignified comeback and drops her voice to a low, raspy mumble,

"So I've been told."

She takes a fuck ton of satisfaction in the way she hears Veronica suck in a quiet breath and a smirk crawls across her mouth at the mental image she gets of Veronica with pink dusted cheeks.

" _I'm sure_." Is all Veronica whispers back.

Betty's insides tingle and she stares at the humming coffee machine, unsure what to say next - unsure because she's never done this before, she's never hung around after a hookup, has never wanted one hookup to become two and then three and then four and so on and then more but right now, she does. She wants Veronica in her bed again - and again and again and again and again - as many times as possible - and she has no fucking clue as to why she does.

"So," She tries to clear her thoughts, hoping to make a joke, "When do I get to paint you?"

Okay that was borderline lame but it draws a laugh out of Veronica.

" _How about you come see me at the show later? And afterwards I'm yours for the night_... _and then as many as you need to complete the job._ "

Her hearts skips several beats at the thought and she suddenly finds it hard to focus so she says the dumbest thing she could manage.

"Won't you be tired after the performance?"

Veronica hums in response, " _Not for this_."

Betty inhales deeply and leans against the counter top, "If you're sure."

" _Of course_ ," A pause, " _I gotta run but.. see you tonight?_ "

"Definitely."

_"I'll text you the time in a bit, okay?"_

_"_ Mhmm _._ "

A moment's pause. "Goodbye, Betts."

Betty's stomach flutters - fucking _flutters_ \- at the nickname and she grins, "Bye, Veronica."

The lines goes dead and Betty stares at the ceiling, still grinning like a fool and-

_Fuck, you're already in deep, Cooper._

**Author's Note:**

> It literally took me five days to finish this because its my first time writing something like this but I loved every part of it and I hope yall did too  
> find me on twitter @ fireberonica


End file.
